Shades of White
by Vathara
Summary: Fallout from various episodes, and Wairwolf.


****

Shades of White

A/N: This story is set in "Urban Legends". Airwolf belongs to Bellisario and Universal, and is AU (moved ahead about twenty years). No infringement intended. Set after "Wairwolf"; flashbacks after the AW episodes "Fallen Angel", "Horn of Plenty" and "Blackjack". Dr. Lita Kino and Detective Trevor Park borrowed with permission from Ellen Brand's "Personality Conflicts" Power Rangers/multi-crossover universe. (Thanks!) 

~*~*~*~*~  
_Not quite late_, Dr. Lita Kino thought, looking at her watch. Eyeing the mark on her appointment calendar; a trio of letters that had no meaning to anyone outside this office. _Not yet._

Not late enough to worry, at least. Though this patient was usually punctual. Especially when he asked for the session. 

__

Instead of being dragged in. Lita shrugged. _Give it another half-hour, then call_-

A trembling in the air shook her; like a static charge, arcing across her nerves. 

"Mr. Wolfe!" Serena's bright tone leaked through the open door. "Nice to see you…." 

Lita missed the rest of it, rubbing the Green Coin between her fingers. That thunderstorm feeling was strongest in alien metals, a call of _like-to-almost-like_ that had her coin vibrating like a tuning fork. _Michael?_ She thought, dazed. Her patient had some empathic tendencies, she knew that, but this…. _I'm feeling him in here? And he hasn't even gotten past Serena yet?_

A genteel throat cleared, drawing her attention to an amused blue gaze behind half-dark glasses. "I did say I'd encountered an… unusual situation." 

Lita blinked. Eyed the shimmer near the white suit, more felt than seen, a whisper of _wonder, wariness, what-is-it?_ "Nani yo." 

"Indeed." Michael closed the door behind him, set an open laptop on her desk. "Dr. Kino, I'd like you to meet Airwolf." 

__

Cross-checking Firm files, scrolled across the screen.  
_Identity verified: Dr. Lita Kino, psychiatrist.  
Security clearance verified.  
Clearance to treat pilots Stringfellow Hawke, Michael Archangel verified.  
Hi!_

~*~*~*~*~  
The first time she'd met Michael, he'd been desperate.

Genteel. Suave. And dressed to kill. But desperate all the same. 

__

I haven't seen this much white since Skull revamped his wardrobe, Lita thought, watching a trio of deadly women sweep her office for listening devices. _Who_ are _these people?_

Not your run of the mill Company agents out in California to avoid having word of "problems" get around Washington, that was for sure. Not even your usual cool, blend-into-the-woodwork Firm agents. These women looked grim. 

And grimmest of all was the dark woman called Marella, handing over a folder marked _Michael Wolfe_. "Pertinent details. He'll sidestep you if he can. Don't let him. He's charming. Don't fall for it. We need to know the brainwashing is over, that he's safe to go back to his duties. More importantly, _he_ needs to know it." 

"And just what are his duties?" Lita prompted. _Brainwashing? Not good. We've got mental trauma, severe trust breakdown, explicit threat to the man's chosen career - oh, this is going to be nasty._

"Your clearance has been bumped up a few steps." Marella gave her a wry smile. "Your patient is Michael Coldsmith-Briggs III, Deputy Director of Special Projects. Code name - Archangel."

And while she was still gaping, they slipped out the door. 

__

Thump. A quiet sound of rubber on her office floor, softer than most footfalls. If not for the enhanced hearing the Green Coin provided, she'd never have known someone was coming. _Thump._

__

Tall, tan, and blond, Lita registered, determined not to be distracted by the blaze of white-on-white; suit, Panama hat, tie, and all. _That's what he's letting me see. What's he minimizing?_

The cane, definitely; silver-headed rosewood, it looked more like an aristocratic ornament than the necessary prop that limp said it was. And more than a prop - she'd been to enough dojos to know that polished wood hid a blade.

__

Turns a disadvantage into an advantage, the psychiatrist noted. _Like the glasses_. Scar, minor injury, who knew; with the left lens blacked out, all you saw was a slight distraction. Something to draw you away from noticing the blazing intelligence in that winter-sky gaze… and the cold, ragged edge of fear. 

__

Purloined Letter effect, Lita realized, leafing through Marella's folder. _You look so outrageous, people never notice how badly you've been hurt. I hate to think what your office politics must be like_. 

Odd. There was a familiar prickling in her nerves as Michael sat, strengthening as he turned his full attention on her. Like the tiniest waft of goose-down brushing the edge of her mind. "You're an empath." 

Skin twitched near the blacked lens. "That's not in Marella's file." His voice was low, polished; a hint of Kentucky, flecked with D.C., smoothed around the edges with long residence in California. 

"You know what's in here?" _Keep it neutral. He's checking you out. And he doesn't trust you._ No surprise there. Outside of places like Angel Grove, psychics didn't fare well with their abilities exposed. Especially in the government.

"The sections that originated from my debriefing, yes. Though I'm certain the rest of those involved in this fiasco have added their own interpretations of events." His tone was level, polite - and yielded nothing. "And technically speaking, Dr. Kino, I am not an empath. What little capability I may have had in that area has long since been… eroded." 

__

And I think you believe that, Lita thought. _Okay. Don't push. Yet. He's frightened enough right now to be hiding a full-blown magical eruption, much less a little empathy._ "Lita, please. So why don't you tell me why you're here?" 

Michael _hmph_ed. "Because a little under a week ago, I had a phenomenal lapse in judgment." 

One eye on the man's tense body language, Lita settled back to listen.

~*~*~*~*~  
"…Given that my blood tests show the agent is gone, the Committee has no further medical reason to bar me from being reinstated," Michael finished. _Calm. Stay calm._ "However, they can and will keep me out until I'm psychologically cleared. Marella arranged for you to be recommended, as you have no connection to any Committee member or subordinate, myself included, and are therefore likely to be impartial in your evaluation." 

"Arranged." Humor curved the brunette's lips. "Somehow, that doesn't sound like a man looking for impartiality." 

__

Very intelligent, Michael realized. Marella hadn't let him see Dr. Kino's file beforehand, but he was starting to have an inkling of the facts that might be in there. "I intend to have my job back." 

"I intend to have a healthy patient." 

__

No, no, damn it, no… "I see." 

"I don't think you do." Anger flashed in green eyes. "Believe it or not, Michael, I want to help you. You seem to be an amazingly resilient individual, with a good, if somewhat unorthodox, support group. You could go back to work right now. In fact, I think you _should_ go back to work."

__

And the other shoe is? "But." 

"But?" Lita shook her head. "Someone you used to love lured you into a trap, to use you against your own people. Your best friend killed her to save your life. And you don't think you have to talk about it?" Green-clad arms leaned on the desk. "Michael, nobody's that resilient." 

Something went cold inside him. "I never said Hawke was my friend." 

A brown brow lifted. "I noticed." 

"We're not friends, you know." Get her off that train of thought, fast. "We simply… use each other. For Airwolf."

"A project you put five years of your life into," Lita mused. "Does he take care of her?" 

"He does indeed." Michael smiled. Strange, for Airwolf to be the safer subject. But for once it _was_ safe; Kino was cleared to know the general details, so long as no one let slip any specifics on locations. "We took her up for a check run after my tox screen was clear, just to be certain a few trans-Atlantic flights hadn't shaken anything loose. I don't know where Hawke's hidden her, but he and Dominic are doing a fine job of maintenance. She handles like a dream." He laughed softly. "A stubborn, fractious, hair-trigger dream, of course. If helicopters were thoroughbreds, she'd be pure Arab. If you can't handle her gently you're better off not setting foot in her at all." 

"But you're not friends." 

Damn. Stubborn woman. Like Marella, set on the trail of a fact that didn't fit. "Dr. Kino, I assure you, I _know_ we're not friends. And it has nothing to do with empathy." Michael hesitated. "At least, not whatever may be left of mine." 

Lita waited. 

"Hawke has… a gift," Michael said slowly. "He doesn't talk about it. I doubt he even knows I know. Most of the Firm certainly doesn't; I buried that inconvenient fact in his files as soon as I could. But when those few people Stringfellow cares for are happy, or in deadly peril… he knows." The spy gave her a casual shrug. "And Marella had to tell him I was in over my head." _Case closed._

"So you're sure you're not blocking him."

"As I've told you, I've nothing to block him _with_. And I'm certainly not so suicidal as to avoid calling for help by any means possible…." He gave her a narrow look. "You disagree. Why?" 

"I know the unofficial policy," Lita said frankly. "Psychics are deniable resources, not operatives. If Hawke _knew_ you were in trouble, they wouldn't let him anywhere near Firm operations." 

Michael gave her a minimal shrug. "At the moment they've no other option. Not if they want continued access to Airwolf." 

"At the moment," the psychiatrist acknowledged. And waited. 

Almost against his will, a slight smile curved his lips. _She knows._ "You're quite good, you know." 

Slim fingers toyed with a green-and-white striped bracelet. "You mean your superiors haven't figured out that the man who was head of their Airwolf project ought to know damn well what its capabilities are and where to find it?" 

Archangel's smile grew. "A momentary lapse?" 

"I'm not going to ask." Lita leaned forward. "Letting Hawke hide Airwolf means a lot to you. Why?" 

"I promised Hawke, a long time ago," Michael said slowly, "That if he chose to work for me, I would put my resources into looking for his brother. I told him the chances were slim. That it would be difficult. That I could promise nothing but the attempt." He spread a casual hand. "He kept his word. I keep mine." 

"And you think that's all this is about," Lita said thoughtfully. "Breaking out of a hospital. Bringing in a new pilot on Airwolf. Flying into East Germany to find you. Making sure your gun was loaded with blanks. Flying _back_ into that rat's nest, to make sure what they did to you never happened to anyone else. That's all Hawke keeping his word."

Archangel shrugged. "Strange as it may seem, he's like that." 

"That's a friend, Michael." 

For a breath, Michael froze. _No._

"I don't know when you decided it was too dangerous to have friends, or why," Lita said softly. "My guess would be something hurt you. Badly. Probably not that long after you met Hawke; that's why you keep him at arm's length." She rested her chin on her palm. "What happened, Michael?"

__

Peru, sprang to mind; fever and pain, Ellison and gunfire and a nightmare formlessness of fire and shadow. "I fear I must apologize, Dr. Kino. But you have no need to know." 

Green eyes met blue. Narrowed. 

__

No, Doctor. This one is my judgment call.

"All right." Lita eyed the clock, shook her head. "I think that's enough for this session." 

Gathering his white coat, Michael frowned. "Dr. Kino…." 

"Yes?" 

Michael saluted her with his cane. "I believe I'll be back." 

~*~*~*~*~  
And he had been, even after she'd cleared him. Sometimes in white, sometimes as anything from the pizza deliveryman to an itinerant taxi-driver, almost always with a white lady lurking in the background as bodyguard. An intelligent, charming, Chinese puzzle of a man; thoroughly devoted to his shadowy work, deceptive and honorable at once. 

__

Purple, definitely, and forget the white suit, Lita had concluded, reviewing his file. _Probably Ninja. Good thing he has Marella around; he needs a Pink to look after him-_

The phone jarred her; she snatched it up. "Dr. Kino." 

"I pray you have a clear spot in your schedule."

Michael. In full-on Archangel mode. And there was a rhythmic beat in the background; helicopter blades? "What's wrong?" 

"Samala should have the file there in a few minutes." Archangel drew a deep breath. "I'm bringing you an emergency." 

~*~*~*~*~  
"I said no." 

The growl sent chills down her spine; a man pressed to his limits, angry and terrified and hating. And hating himself most of all. 

"I don't leave the safety off an AK-47." Archangel kept an iron grip on the smaller man's arm, barely slowing as they entered her office. "I don't leave classified documents with Pentagon staff. And I will not leave you alone with this." He pointed to the chair. 

Eyes hidden behind sunglasses, Stringfellow Hawke stood unmoving. "Told you what happened."

"The tactical details, I'm sure." Irony rang through Archangel's voice. "I'm familiar with all the exits from this building. Try to use one before an hour is up, and you will be shot somewhere painful but nonfatal. And we'll do this again." Tipping his Panama hat to her, Michael left. 

Taut as if his muscles were coiled wire, Hawke sat.

__

Hmm. Defensive, ticked at his friend for suggesting he needs help, not to mention friends with a Purple in the first place, suspicious, emotionally controlled…. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a Green. 

A Green with an MIA bracelet gleaming on his right wrist. And a wary glance toward the file half-hidden on her desk. 

__

Like they say, I knew the job was dangerous when I took it. "I'm Lita."

Silence.

__

Ninja Green, Lita guessed. Dino would have been right out the door; Thunder would have dazzled her with verbal footwork, distracting her with half-empty words until the hour was up. This man meant to sit right here, letting silence roll off him like water from stone. _Time for a bigger hammer._ "I think Michael was serious about shooting you." 

"Yeah." 

__

Wow. A syllable. "He's worried about you." 

"Figures." 

Two syllables. At this rate it'd only take the rest of the hour to get a sentence. "Tell me about St. John." 

Skin creased at the edge of mirrored lenses. Hawke shook his head. 

__

Easy. Easy…. "You know Michael trusts me, or you wouldn't be here." 

"Yeah." Slightly softer this time; granite, instead of obsidian.

__

Might be as good as you'll get. Careful, now; Archangel could be wrong. No matter what he thought he read in Caitlin's body language when she reported where _she found Hawke. Angela's bedroom might just have been a convenient place to lock a prisoner. Maybe._ "So tell me about Angela Horn."

A flush. Fists clenched. For a moment, Lita thought the pilot would come right out of his chair-

But the moment passed, and Hawke's gaze slid past her. Cold. Controlled. Ice over the edge of the abyss. 

__

Oh. Damn. 

And damn Michael Archangel for being right. 

__

Very, very _careful,_ Lita told herself. "Let me tell you about surviving…."

~*~*~*~*~  
"Don't even ask," Lita said fiercely, feeling more than hearing the quiet cane behind her. "Just don't." 

"He spends the vast majority of his time completely isolated at that cabin of his, save for Tet. Who, one must admit, despite his legendary skills at blocking helicopter landings and annoying skirt-wearing staff, is not the best candidate for stopping an attempted suicide." Archangel arched a blond brow. "Do I need to assign someone up there?" 

"In his private space? That might be worse than no one at all," the psychiatrist admitted. Gauged the white-clad spy, noting how fingers clenched on his cane. _Dead giveaway there. You're hurting right with him._ "Can you stay with him?" 

"Unfortunately, no," came his blunt reply. "Some of those on the Hill are on a reorganizing spree; I've even had to yield up Marella for a few weeks to keep pieces of my section from being shuffled off…." The winter-sky gaze went distant; a shadow of a smile crept over his face. 

For the first time in hours, Lita felt herself relax. "You have a plan." 

"Hawke should be in a secure area," Michael mused. "At least until we have more accurate information on Horn's location." A genteel shrug. "Why should I allow a perfectly good guest room to go to waste?" 

"You're going to move him in with you?" Lita rolled her eyes. "He's going to hate that." 

Archangel grinned. "Precisely." 

__

And as long as Hawke's throwing sparks about being in your house, he won't have the energy to fight seeing me. "You must have paid attention in psych." Lita looked at him askance. "When you do find Horn, what are you going to do?"

The slight prickle she felt around Archangel faded; turned chill, like a rime of frost. "As you said, Doctor… don't ask." 

~*~*~*~*~  
So far as Lita knew, they still hadn't found Horn. Though he'd apparently found them once more; a fact that still grated on Michael's nerves at odd moments. 

Which was why the jaunty white-clad figure that dropped in one bright morning caught her completely off guard.

"Thanks, Lita. Think I'd've gotten used to Piranhatrons trying to blast my kids-" Hands in his trench coat pockets, Detective Trevor Park halted halfway out of her office doorway, eyeing the spy with wary disbelief. "You?" 

Michael had stopped in his own tracks, smile dimming slightly. "Ah. Detective Park." He waved a casual hand. "Don't worry. I only stopped to give a brief message."

Lita eyed them both. Was it her imagination, or had Archangel put just the slightest emphasis on _Detective?_ "I can clear some time-" 

"No, no; I've far too many tangles to be sorting at the moment." Again, a flash of jubilant grin; if it weren't for the familiar note of caution, she'd have sworn the spy was drugged. "Thoroughly worthwhile tangles, I assure you." The blue gaze hit hers; bright and clear, the winter sky on fire. "We found St. John." 

"You're kidding." Trevor's voice was stunned. 

"Not about this, I assure you."

"But St. John _Hawke?_" Trevor shook his head. "Where the hell…?"

"Deep cover, it seems. If you'll excuse me, Detective, Doctor…" Michael's smile gained a hint of edge. "I have some closets to shake down."

"Pity the closets," Trevor muttered to the closing door.

"You know-" Lita hesitated. "Michael Wolfe?" 

"Met him while I was in Delta Force," the detective nodded. "Heard more. He's pretty involved with anti-terrorism." 

__

Sometimes by blowing up the terrorists, Lita thought wryly.

But from the cautious way Trevor checked out the window, he knew that too. "Are you okay, Lita?"

"Everyone needs to talk to someone." The psychiatrist smiled. "He's never been less than a perfect gentleman."

"Michael's one of the good guys," the detective said seriously. "Though he'd probably rather be dipped in lava than admit it. But he's got enemies. And if he really dragged St. John Hawke out from under a covert rock, he just got more."

Lita tilted her head, watching Trevor pace. _Either Ranger energy is catching, or the relatives just pick up the habits from close proximity._ "What do you know about the Hawkes?" 

"Rumors, mostly," Trevor admitted. "Adam was born before St. John went missing; I was already out of… that line of work. But pilots like Hawke aren't that thick on the ground. When Stringfellow started running into stone walls trying to find his brother, word got around. And then when Michael picked him up-!" The detective whistled. 

Something in that pricked a psychiatrist's instincts alert. "You didn't think it was hopeless, did you?" 

"I thought it was a long shot," Trevor stated frankly. "But Michael's got a knack for tilting the odds his way. And he never lied to me." He gave her a considering glance. "So. Are the rumors true? Did Stringfellow really hold a multi-million-dollar secret helicopter for ransom to get St. John back?"

Lita blinked innocently at him. "What helicopter?"

Trevor grinned.

~*~*~*~*~  
_And I thought Michael was happy then_, Lita thought now, looking over Archangel's laptop with its incredible words on her desk. _Cautious, still worried about how String was going to adjust to having his brother and his Airwolf too, but happy. But now…._

Joy sang at her out of the thunderstorm; a fragile, heart-in-its-mouth joy she'd seen on a dozen new parents. 

__

Is this real? Is this happening?   
She's so tiny….   
Oh god, what if I drop her?

Bundle that together with a bouncing, vibrant static-prickle of _curious_ and _what's-that?_ and _mine-mine-mine-_

"Ah. Michael." _Breathe. Just breathe._ "Could you…?"

The spy made a subtle motion with his hand; Lita felt the _push_ of Airwolf's presence ease. "My apologies." He gave her a white, casual shrug. "It's been years since I've had to shield. Or been capable of doing so. I fear I'm badly out of practice."

__

Not that badly, Lita thought, testing the leashed feeling in the room. _So much for "I'm not an empath"._ "Whoa." 

"That seems to have been the collective response."

"Collective?" _Whatever she is, she's got a hold on Archangel. He flies her. And so do - uh-oh._

"Indeed." Archangel settled back in his chair, fingers intertwined. "First, allow me to recommend Cascade, Washington as a vacation spot. You really _must_ go there someday." His voice turned wry. "Preferably with heavy artillery…."

An hour, three incredible stories, and one weird index of computer files later, Lita popped open a can of Jolt. "So. Let me see if I have this straight. Way back in Berlin, you ran into a psi-active compound that tore open your empathy. Which you had sort of under control, until it latched onto Stringfellow and started waking up again. Only before it got any farther than _I want this person near me_, you got hit by a Peruvian demoness. Who just broke out a month ago, tried to eat you, and got herself splattered all over a museum by Airwolf." 

"Put succinctly, yes."

The psychiatrist pressed her forehead against chill aluminum. "And because she put you under a spell to keep you from remembering demons, or attacks, or even that you _did_ feel her coming, you built Airwolf blind." 

"Insofar as the psychic aspect goes," Archangel agreed. "Though it appears there are limits to what magical suggestion can block." 

Right. Michael'd had defenses built, even if he couldn't remember what he wanted to defend against. "But there's only so much you can shield…."

"If you're outside the mind you're defending. Yes." The spy granted her an abbreviated shrug. "An unexpected feature Bethancourt neglected to mention." 

__

Oh, let me at this woman…. "Are you okay?" 

"Yes," Michael said softly. "And no." 

__

Michael Archangel?  
Upset?   
Link fluctuating fear/worry/confusion. Source: pre-existing aural damage, core survival programming.   
Airwolf attempting to repair.   
Help?

Lita sat up. "Muerta left scars?"

__

Yes.   
Bethancourt files note pre-existing aural damage, pilot Michael Archangel.   
Match to demonic attack 98% positive prior to Cascade exemplar.  
Unable to repair more than 5% prior to full link.  
Files indicate aural repair will "feel weird" to inexperienced pilot. Specifics lacking. 

"_Specifics_ might include feeling as if limits you knew were solid titanium suddenly turned to open sky," Michael grumbled. "It's as if… as if a thunderstorm made itself part of your soul." Hands reached for words, fell open, frustrated. "I don't know how to explain…." 

"No, it's all right," Lita smiled. _Archangel wordless. There's a new one._ But if he was floundering, she was on familiar ground. You didn't practice in Angel Grove without dealing with manifestation trauma. "It's pretty common to have mixed feelings when extensive psychokinetic abilities first manifest. You feel like you want to fix the world; as if you could fix the world, if you tried hard enough. At the same time you know you're only human, and you want everything to go back to the way it used to be. Back to 'normal'." 

"Only normal no longer exists." A flicker of a grin touched Archangel's face. "I felt much the same after my first mission. The world… simply wasn't as it had been, days before." 

__

Secret identities as compared to the psychology of clandestine operatives, Lita thought. _Huh. I've got to look into that; maybe there's something in the literature I've missed._ "Could I talk to Airwolf alone?" 

"The laptop mike will pick you up. Or you might type." Michael stood, straightening his suit. Hesitated. "Just remember that she's young." 

"He feels very protective of you," Lita noted, after the office door had closed.

__

Michael Archangel active pilot. Full link established.   
Bethancourt files note full link ties to human core survival programming. Pilot Hawke defines core survival programming as "instincts".  
Cross-referencing Firm psych files indicates instincts likely to be accurate interpretation. Useful description.  
Expected response: protective care of link partner.  
Protective care of self encouraged. Enhances pilot survival, therefore link partner survival.  
Michael Archangel believes revealing Airwolf sentient existence to Dr. Lita Kino enhances pilot survival.  
Don't understand.  
Explain? 

Lita's lips pursed in a silent whistle. _You don't just go by programming, you try to reinterpret and understand what you've got._ Any doubts that she was dealing with a sentient being went right out the window. "You know people need to talk about what happens to them. So they can get some perspective, understand what happened." 

__

Yes.  
Noted reasoning behind Firm debriefs: psychological assist as well as information gathering.   
Particularly advised after traumatic/stressful events.   
Airwolf stressful? 

"Young, but fast," Lita murmured. "Do you think you're stressful?" 

A long pause of blank screen. _Hurt them.   
Didn't mean to.   
Followed instructions.  
Pilots with access to Airwolf equipment supposed to have given permission to link. Link protocols automatic.   
Full link accomplished with pilot Hawke before Airwolf informed pilots unaware of link or consequences.  
Hawke said it was okay. Lack of information not Airwolf's fault.   
Psychic scan of full link indicates Hawke telling the truth._

"But?" Lita asked carefully. 

__

Scared them.  
Love them, but scared them.  
Core of Airwolf AI constructed by Dr. Jane Bethancourt: "Love, trust, protect."  
Unwilling link violates trust and protect.  
Can't fix this.  
Help?

"Whoof." Lita leaned back in her chair. _A kid. I'm dealing with a kid._

A kid who'd hurt her… foster parents, for lack of a better term. Doing what she'd been told to do, without real appreciation of the consequences. Until they'd crashed down on everyone's heads. 

__

Wish I could hug you, kid. "So you know what you did was wrong," the psychiatrist said firmly. "Are you going to do it again?" 

__

No!   
Directly checking with current pilots before instituting new link program.   
Able to disable linking protocol so long as neurological biofeedback not needed from helmet.  
Don't want another Moffet!

Lita shivered. Archangel hadn't said too much about the man who'd cost him his eye and nearly his life, but the few spare facts he'd laid out had been gruesome enough. _Rapist, murderer… wait a minute._ "Moffet was linked to you?"

__

Yes.   
Cold. Flat. Sick.  
Made empty places in Airwolf.   
Hurt when Hawke killed him.   
Thought link destruction would destroy Airwolf.   
Hawke wanted to die with Gabrielle.  
Dominic held me.  
Wouldn't let go.  
Wouldn't let Hawke go.  
Warm.  
Didn't know other humans could be warm.   
Bethancourt was warm. Not linked, warm.  
Miss her. 

__

Poor kid, Lita thought. _Careful, Lita. That "poor kid" just happens to be part of a tactical weapon capable of wiping small cities off the face of the earth._

But a kid nonetheless. Just like a couple dozen other hurting, powerful kids she'd patched up psychologically.

Lita nodded. _Time to get to work._

~*~*~*~*~  
_Lita says come in?_

Michael ventured through the doorway, blond brow raised. "You could have called."

"Just wanted to be sure it was telepathy." Lita frowned, considering the screen. "Lady? Can you give us some privacy?" 

Hesitation. _Michael Archangel?_

"Distract String for a while, Angel," Michael suggested. "I believe he feels bored." 

__

Okay! With a bounce, she flickered away.

Michael lowered himself into the chair. "She's a bit much, I admit."

"And how," Lita sighed, leaning her chin on her hand. "I feel like I've been in a pillow fight." She arched a brown brow. "You sure you're up to this?"

"I did want to raise children someday," Michael said thoughtfully. "And I've had some experience with Le Van." He shrugged. "It's really not a matter of choice, now, is it? She's ours, she is for all practical purposes a minor, and we love her. We're responsible for her. Anything less would be inhuman." 

"You'd be surprised how rare that attitude can be," Lita murmured. "Or maybe you wouldn't." She sat up straight. "This is advice, not medical opinion. You're a working parent now. If I were you, I'd go over my schedule with a fine-tooth comb. Figure out where you can and can't delegate. All of you should. Then get together and plan who's responsible and when, and what happens when someone has an emergency. Kids need boundaries, and they need stability. She may not be human, but I'm willing to bet she needs it just as much." 

"Marella and I are already working on it," the spy nodded. "Dominic and Caitlin have been handling the difficulties at Santini Air, working St. John's crew into the schedule. Le's still somewhat uncertain about getting to know his father, but I believe we can come to a mutually acceptable arrangement. Even String has been coming down off that mountain to help. He's better now," Michael mused. "Still measuring words out like diamonds, still most likely to be found lurking in the quietest corner… but he is better now." 

"You don't undo sixteen years of chronic sorrow overnight," Lita noted. "If it helps, I think this could be the best thing for him. He needs someone to look after. Someone to plan for a future." She gave him a considering look. "Someone who needs him."

__

As I do need him, Michael thought. _My rock. My ace in the most desperate stakes. My… friend._ "It's been mentioned." 

"That's a start." Lita tilted her head, eyeing him. "You're not telling St. John's team about the Lady?" 

"Not for the foreseeable future," Archangel said firmly. "Locke and Rivers don't yet know we still have Airwolf, and I'm in no hurry to inform them otherwise. And St. John…" He hesitated. "St. John doesn't trust me."

"Guilt?" Dr. Kino asked. "Or jealousy?"

"Some of both, I imagine. Mingled with the shock of leaving a younger brother, and returning to find a grown, scarred man." Michael folded his fingers together. "The root causes I leave to those more skilled in the psychiatric arts, such as yourself. I can only follow my instincts. And instinct tells me that informing St. John that someone he doesn't trust is inextricably tied to his brother might provoke a lethally hostile response." 

Lita started. "If you died-" 

"String's chances of survival would be somewhere under one in four," Archangel said bluntly. "Possibly ameliorated by Airwolf's link. Yes." He gave her a minuscule shrug. "I'd prefer not to test Sinjin's understanding of that fact." 

Lita nodded slowly. "You know them better than I do. But he's family, Michael. You and I both know, odds are he'll find something out eventually."

"I know," Michael acknowledged. "But currently we're still coming to grips with the Lady ourselves. The smallest things startle you… do you realize, we can't get lost?" 

"What?"

"GPS," Archangel clarified. "Unless there's a magnetic storm, Airwolf knows precisely where she is at all times. And she knows precisely where we are. I grant you there's a few feet of error involved on our end, but I could cross D.C. blindfolded." 

Lita drew back. "I, ah… wouldn't advise that."

"Nor would I," Michael mused. "The fact remains that it is possible. And quite unsettling." He lifted a wry brow. "I'm well acquainted with Hawkes. They search for weakness in their enemies. Strike it, with all the force they can bring to bear, to finish the fight once and for all. Until we can accustom ourselves to the situation, informing St. John would be akin to spreading blood in the water." 

Interest sparked in green eyes. "Sounds like Sinjin's not the only one with trust problems, here." 

"I-" Michael hesitated. Considered the situation. "You're quite right. I don't trust him. I'm… not entirely certain why. Possibly because I know how long periods undercover can change a man. Possibly because he answers to Locke, not me. Or it may simply be that I'm angry with him for being the center of so much pain. String, Dominic, Jo, Le Van; even Caitlin's not immune, in that her attempts to draw String into anything beyond friendship run headlong into Hawke's conviction that he's jinxed."

"You're the expert on intelligence," Lita noted. "Does this feel personal, or professional?" 

Archangel weighed that in his mind. Considered the feel of the situation, the nerves jangling from years of covert work versus that part of himself entwined with Santini Air. "Both." He let out a soft breath. "It's my professional judgment that it would be a mistake to allow a person of uncertain clearance access to highly sensitive information on our… personal vulnerabilities."

"I wouldn't let someone I wasn't sure of near my kid, either." Lita uncapped a pen, scribbled a note on her calendar. "But he is String's brother. String doesn't trust him?" 

"Not with Airwolf. Which is odd." Michael gazed into space, fitting fact with fact. Not informing St. John of ongoing Firm missions was one thing; security was security, after all. Need to know might be thoroughly violated inside Santini Air, but never outside that tight-knit band of flyers. 

And yet… to not tell Sinjin that the sleek, stealthy craft String loved most in the world was actually _alive_….

"From what I've heard," Lita said carefully, "When your instincts and String's intersect, something fishy is definitely going on." 

Indeed. Though the only fishy thing might be a lack of information. Locke's Company files on St. John's years undercover might best be described as terse. _We don't know enough about St. John,_ Archangel decided. "I believe I have some background checks to run." 

"My door's always open," Lita reminded him as he rose. "Oh, and Michael? Keep your shields up until you clear the city limits. At least."

"My dear Doctor, I'm well aware of your charming town's unenviable reputation," Archangel said dryly, saluting her with his cane. "I have every intention of avoiding the abandoned warehouse district, Little Japan, rock quarries, inhuman monsters, giant robots, and, last but most assuredly not least, Angel Grove Park." 

He left to the peals of her laughter.


End file.
